


Familiar

by TheMockingCrows



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Eventual sexy times, M/M, Magic, Tags Subject to Change, Transformation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-11 05:56:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16470041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMockingCrows/pseuds/TheMockingCrows
Summary: The most cherished thing in the world for a magic user is their familiar. But is a magic user the most cherished thing for a familiar in return?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written with minimal editing as a train of thought fic for the JohnDave Sandbox Server.
> 
> original tumblr post: http://themockingcrows.tumblr.com/post/179610030957

     When John first found Dave, neither he nor his father was sure the bird was even going to survive the night. He was five years old and walking with his father in the woods, hoping to find mushrooms and sweet smelling moss, different roots and things to work some magic with. It was good to see his dad smiling again. Grief had been clinging to them since his mother passed, and even now the bits of magic they'd be doing for lessons would be using some of the ingredients she'd enjoyed most, a wisp of a memory to guide them through the hard times.

     The crow had been a surprise neither of them was anticipating.

     Mostly naked, dark head bulbous and soft body with its traces of incoming pin feathers lying very still on the ground, they'd been sure it was dead. Fallen from some great height and died, the poor little thing. John, being five, wanted to get close to investigate it. To poke it more precisely, to see if it really was dead or maybe just sleeping. After a single poke before his father could stop him it had startled, flopped around, and made a high pitched cawing noise before struggling to right itself. James could see that it definitely had some life in it, but the fall must have damaged one of its wings, one side sitting at an awkward angle now that it was stumbling around. It couldn’t seem to quite balance itself correctly, leaning towards the damaged side.

     "Daddy what do we do? Where's the mama? Where's the nest??" John asked, sure they could just find its home and deliver it again. He'd seen his mother do that with a robin before, half the size of this weird chick and yet just as loud. It'd survived and flown off not long after the rescue, soft with new feathers.

     James craned his head back to stare up, sweeping the trees branches this way and that, trying to spot a nest.

     "...Higher than we can reach, I think. It looks hurt, too. I don't think it would survive if we set it back up there, it might not be able to fly."

     "Would the doctor help?" Doctors were great, they fixed EVERYTHING. ...Well. ...Okay. A lot of things. Most things. They couldn't fix everything, he knew.

     "Maybe," he said, leaning down to scoop the creature up. It continued to make its loud squawky noises before apparently growing tired, flopping around mutely till he compressed it in the warm confines of his broad hands. "It's freezing... must have been down for a while."

     "It's gonna be okay though, right daddy?" 

     "...Well."

     "How do we fix it so it's okay?" John asked, more than a little desperate. He'd had enough of things dying, making something stay alive would be a nice change of pace.

     "Let’s.. get it home for now," he'd said hesitantly. "We can warm it up and see if it wants to eat, and depending on how it is in the morning we'll see about getting it some help for that wing."

     "Can I carry it instead?" John asked, bouncing on the balls of his feet, wanting to help. He was the one that poked it and showed it was alive, this was his responsibility now. "Can we KEEP it?? Do we get to keep it?? There's no nest, that means we get to keep it right? Right?"

     "Tell you what. Give me one of your mittens and we can set it in there to keep it warm. Then you can carry it and keep it safe till we get home," James said, smiling a little more soon as John started biting the ends of his fingers through the yarn, trying to rip them off fast enough with his teeth instead of fumbling at the wrists. "We're already out there, we need to get the things we came for before heading home."

     "Okay! Here! Here, it can have both of them!" he said, slipping one mitten inside the other crookedly, straining on his toes to hold it up for his father to take. The crow squirmed and squawked a few more times, its head bobbing, before growing still and quiet inside its far warmer abode. The small bundle was handed down to John, who held the parcel as if it were one of the expensive bowls from the cabinet in the dining room that only came out for holidays and birthdays, expression as serious as a five year old could be.

     He had a  _ job _ now.

     "If you get tired of holding it, let me know. My pocket should be big enough for it too."

     "I won't get tired!"

     James didn't have the heart to say much more. John seemed thrilled at his new job holding his small foundling, and the potential of the bird not making it was fleeting at best. However long that thing had been on the ground, they seemed to come by at just the right time. It was definitely a sign of some kind.

     "Let's go get those ingredients then, we'll make something nice tonight to stick in your pillowcase to give you good dreams."

 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

 

     They'd arrived home, but none of the work for lessons was going to happen that night it seemed. All excitement for lessons were gone from John, and all his focus was fixated on the foundling. Instead of lessons, they worked on outfitting a box for the crow, with a soft series of cloths and one of John's old t-shirts making up the center. A heating pad was placed under it all, turned on low, the electric cord creeping out the side like a pale snake. The crow had been silent in John's hands, either sleeping or slipping away in the mitten. Sleeping, judging by the croaking it set to doing when he had to gently take it from his sons hands to make sure it would be positioned well in the new enclosure.

     A quick internet search had given a good idea on what it could eat safely, and John was nigh instantly zipping out back to turn over rocks in the yard, grabbing any worms and bugs he could find to throw into his plastic sand castle bucket. He came back in chilled, hands and knees filthy, but with something to tide the crow over for the time being. James assumed a vet could give him better information on what to feed it if it survived the night to help it grow, or he could drive down from their secluded home into town and find some kind of bait offering for fishermen going to the nearby lake if he was desperate.

     This was all by the seat of their pants with no guarantees, but John seemed dead set. The most James could do was try, mind still edging around the potential of what he'd need to say if they woke up to no cries for food at some point. John understood death as much as any child his age could, but it still was hard to really grasp.

     John watched James feed the impatient thing in the mitten a few times, and he marveled at how it didn't seem to register it had just eaten before it was shouting for more. A few times feeding on his own was enough for James to snap out of it and go pop some leftovers into the oven for themselves, dragging John along so he'd wash his hands of the mud and grass from the excavating in the yard.

     When he went to deliver the food, knowing full well his son wouldn't want to break away too long from the new resident.. he found only the crow. John himself scurried past him a moment later, an oversized lump and quick legs underneath a soft blanket coming to stop next to the cardboard box. He'd brought bedding.  Hoo boy. Guess it was going to be sleepover, then. Just as well really, at least John would be warm and comfortable instead of sneaking out of his room all night.

     They ate dinner on the floor, John wolfing his serving down too quick so he could watch the bird in its brightly colored nest, leaning towards the side with the damaged wing. Another search worked out the general schedule something that size would probably need, and James sighed. ...A sleepover without too much sleep.  Okay. It'd be like when John was still very small, then. He'd done it before with a human, he could do it with a crow.

     "....Daddy? We're keeping it right?" John asked again when darkness had taken the room over. James had brought more bedding and settled down in the same spot with John, alarm on his phone set to go off at the right times for feeding and checking on the bird. 

     "I promise, if it makes it we'll keep it." He meant it, too.

     ".... Can I keep it?" John clarified. "Me pacifically?"

     "Specifically."

     "Right, spaceifically."

     He smiled. "I suppose so. It'd be a lot of work, though. Much as a dog or a cat."

     "I don't care! Familiars do a lotta work too, so I'd do work for it first!" John said definitively. "I wanna keep it when it gets better. I found it, and I'm helping it. I wanna see if it wants to help me too when it's growed up."

     "What if it doesn't want to be your familiar?" James asked. "We could always find you a nice fat frog, or a salamander or something even. You like those salamanders a lot, right?"

     "It'll want to," he said, with a certainty that James was surprised by. It didn't feel the same as a child acting like he knew everything. "It'll be my friend."

 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

 

     The bird survived, though it seemed that James was right about it never returning to its nest being for the better. When the aggressively demanding for food behavior had continued through to the morning and the vet had been visited, John holding the box on his lap with an iron grip so he could peek his nose over the top (SOMEONE had to promise the crow it'd be okay and that car rides could be scary but they were really fun sometimes because there were games and the radio and on long stretches of roads at night James made lights race the car and bounce around like stags to keep the real ones from coming too close to the car and being dangerous) the likelihood of it ever being able to fly was labeled uncertain.

     Could it fly someday? Perhaps. The break was a bad one, the splint on the small frame ungainly and awkward over its fluffed feathers, but John wasn't deterred. He wanted this bird as his familiar, not a frog like his father, not a salamander, not a cat like his mother, not a dog. He wanted the little crow and its half there feathers and unending appetite.

     It steadily grew feathers and gained size over time, John sticking to the exhausting schedule till it could last longer and longer without the constant meals. When the brace came off, the wing no longer hung at the awful angle, but it showed little interest in stretching that limb much compared to the other, and its body continued to gently lean towards it. When it no longer needed the nesting box, James started coming in to check on his son, only to find the bird tucked up against John's neck or on his chest instead of on the easily accessed perch over the nicely placed newspaper he'd kind of plaintively hoped it would favor instead. 

     For such a loudmouth it was, surprisingly, a rather clean pet in that regard.

     John's lessons progressed from the children’s basic charms and spells to things a little advanced for his age and he proved to be bright, having the same knack for magic his mother had, but the same occasional problem with getting tongue tied that James used to. At least he wasn't dealing with the speech impediment he'd had in his own youth that always set things back further. 

     Through the seasons he learned and grew, and with him every step of the way was the crow. Dave, John had decided. Why in the world he named him Dave of all things, James wasn't sure.  It was a strangely human name for a bird, and had a strange ring to it when he'd call both of them to come get food or a snack, or to lessons. John would work on the beginners spell work, or spelling, or crafts at the table after eating his oreos and milk, and Dave would cling to his shoulder with his sharp talons and watch attentively, occasionally cawing or trying to peck at his hair or pencil before hopping off across the tabletop to see if that empty oreo plate was really still empty.

     They were rarely apart, and James was grateful for the lifespan of the birds ensuring that his son would get to keep his pet for some time to come if he remained as hardy as he was. John passed his sixth birthday, then seventh, year after year coming and going till his twelfth, all with the crow there to keep him company. It made living so far from others not feel as lonely as it might, Dave every bit the friend John had declared he would be when he was small. 

     The only problem with crows was that they couldn't live forever. 

     John knew it wasn't proper to think like that, really he did. Messing with lifespans was like messing with the dead: some things you just Don't Do, magic or not. He could no more extend his friend's lifespan than his father could bring his mother back from the dead, but the urge was still there. John, like any twelve year old, knew the rules and had been steadily thinking of ways to bend them in just the right way to keep the bend from becoming a break.

     It wasn't  _ technically  _ expanding a crows lifespan if it wasn't a crow anymore, right???

     Being twelve, John had quite obviously gone through a lot of the things in his home over the years, including things that were typically meant for someone older than himself or for someone who was Very Much Not John Egbert. He'd flipped through chapters of the heavy books his dad kept in his study and... kind of understood what they were saying? 

     Sort of? 

     ..... 

     Kiiiind of..?

     Enough skimming to get the main ideas of all those old passages and chapters on transfiguration at least, and the headers of some of the spells he'd seen were promising. It was older magic, shapeshifting and adjacent, but if someone could do it to themselves then surely they could do it to animals as well. It was the same magic just different focus. And maybe different ingredients. John had studied hard enough to learn common swap outs and the modern equivalents of a lot of spooky sounding things, and the herbs they really described. A few skipped errand trips into town with his father as the curiosity deepened had led to more notes being scrawled and more peeks in the Very Not For John books in his father’s collection.

     Maybe cobbling together a few likely things would make it work, magic worked best when it was familiar and controlled after all. Magic doing what it wanted was dangerous, had unpleasant side effects, too many unknowns and bigger risks. He remembered his six months with no eyebrow, burnt off from an untamed spell gone awry, and grimaced at the sudden mental image of somehow setting Dave on fire by accident.

     NOPE, NO FIRE BIRDS, THATS WHY HE WAS GOING TO BE CAREFUL. GEEZE BRAIN.

     John had gathered bits and pieces for months, scraps of different herbs and plants, pieces of crystal and bones his father wouldn’t miss too badly, and by the time he was nearly thirteen John was fairly sure he was ready to try. Too long would be pushing it. Dave was already old for a crow, though he was still occasionally perky and ever ready for snacks. (Snacks were never safe in that house, the feathery fucker knew how to open cabinets on his own.) John just needed the right time to try it, with the failsafe in effect. With his planning there was going to be the equivalent of an "off switch" he'd worked in to the wording, in case something started to go wrong. If it looked too dangerous, or Dave looked to be in distress or in pain, John was going to be able to make it stop without making it worse.

     ...He was pretty sure he was, at least.

     Yet he didn't go for it, didn’t take the final steps in setting up the ritual. It never seemed to be the right time, never the right weather, never the right sense of urgency. He could prepare and prepare, but the faint worry and the same mental image of setting Dave on fire always made John stop and go back to check his wording, or alter or tweak a posture or ingredient. Minute changes that didn't likely have any effect, but it was surely effect enough to John that it mattered the world.

     Surely THAT change or THIS change would be the one to make it safe to change Dave out of his aging crow form. And besides, there was still time! His familiar was healthy enough to hold on, it didn’t matter if it was that afternoon or next month, there was plenty of time!

     Then Dave had started to not want snacks, and started skipping entire meals. The tweaking and last minute changes had taken on a more desperate edge, frantic to get things Just Right, trying his best to keep it a secret from his father. Almost ready. Needed to be ready. Needed to be CERTAIN he was ready, in case he messed it up. Couldn't hurt his friend, couldn’t accidentally destroy the bit of time they’d have left anyway just because of messing up a spell he wasn’t meant to be doing anyway.

     Dave started to lose weight and stopped wanting to hop around with his toys making his loud croaking calls. His feathers lost their shine and his eyes looked cloudy. He wanted to stay on John's shoulder and roost with his head tucked down, wanted to have his feathers stroked, wanted to be talked to, wanted to be kept warm and not be jostled around.

     He couldn't push it back any further. The next time his father left the house, John hurried to get everything ready in the yard with Dave tucked in his arm to keep him close, the bird not able to stay balanced as well anymore. It was now or never, apparently. Moment of truth. 

     "You just... stay right here, Dave," John said softly as he finished arranging a circle of items just so. He set the dark bird down and scritched between his wings and under his chin, trying to hide the worry with a smile when he didn't get much of a croak back as usual. "This'll help. Everything’ll be alright."

     Probably.

     If John had known that his years of learning at his father's hand would be preparing him for this when he was a child, he'd never have believed it. This was big magic. Big, big magic. Magic that, probably, would have worked better with adults. Maybe even multiple adults. It was also potentially maybe illegal but that would be something to worry about later if this worked and he ever got ungrounded by his father for doing something like this.

     Dave tucked his head down tiredly under his wing. Holding his breath, John stepped back and crouched down to the edge of what he'd laid out, eyes flicking restlessly over the setup. It wasn't professional but it was as good as he could do. He unfolded the paper he'd written, re-written, re-re-re-written a dozen times, and set it in front of himself where he could read. Biting his lower lip for a moment, he cut his hand before he could give it a second thought and shoved his hand down to an open space on the ground, mouth opening to start the words soon as the light started to flicker beneath the bird's frame.

     Good. It was going good. White light, strong edges of the circle, no distress noises. More confident, John sped up the incantation, following the loops of the words with his eyes and occasionally glancing up to keep track of Dave's condition. Still light. Still bright. Still safe, even though he looked a bit uncertain at starting to lift off the ground.  He could see a new outline trying to form, longer limbs, a shape that was trying to grow more solid from the after image halo of a humanoid it was right then.

     The breeze kicked up suddenly, and whisked away the paper.

     "SHIT, NO, WAIT!"

     The white light went red, and the humanoid shape convulsed sickly, with the bird in the shape's center starting to physically change as well. John heard a few sharp caws, upset, scared, and he wanted to scream. He panicked. What was the off button? What was reverse? He knew this, he fucking knew it, he'd written it so many times but.. .... which one had he gone with in the end? Which version?  The cawing was louder now, distressed and changing as if being stretched and strained, and the feathers were morphing in the red light, a sphere of discord and cacophony. John's panic grew till he could hardly breath. This was it. He was killing Dave. Oh, God, he was hurting his friend, this wasn't what he wanted, THIS WASN'T WHAT HE WANTED, NO NO NONONON-

     He let go of the magic, and let it do what it wanted to do, too scared to hold it in control on his own any longer.

     Sometimes, magic running wild, when directed by enough thought and desire, runs enough of a course on its own to get the job done. 

     John heard sounds he didn't dare to look at, crying, almost hysterical, mind racing with the things that must have happened as he felt the pull of the magic dissipate and leave him and the site. How could he explain this to his father? How could he tell him? Would he go to jail?? Would some council swoop in and punish him? How could he touch magic again after this, after.. After…

     "...John."

     The word was mostly croaked, similar to the mimic Dave would try to do of his name, but it was a different tone now. A different pitch entirely. Dave was okay? It had.. It'd stopped on its own, maybe. Some failswitch on its own. It had to be.

     He felt a press at his shoulder and had to look up, snot clinging to his nose and eyes red a nd watery, face covered with splotches. John.. wasn't sure what he was looking at. Or who, really. Bright red eyes and nearly white hair, features almost ghostly as if a person's outline hadn't been filled in properly with normal pigments.  The person looked about John's age, maybe a little younger, settled on his knees with one hand pressed up to rest on the still shaking shoulder.

     "John."

     Clearer now. This person knew his name. This person also, after it finally registered, had wings black as pitch perched on his back. One was a little crooked, the top not matching the opposite. Save for the wings, they looked whole and more or less healthy. John leaned to the side, away from the hand, to try peering around the (oh, god, they're naked) person's side towards the circle's center. No feathers, no blood, no nothing save for scorched earth and ingredients gone ashy white and useless powder. 

     "..... Dave?"


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes having a familiar is better than having a bird inhabiting a human body. At all times though, it's best to have a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written with minimal editing as a train of thought fic for the JohnDave Sandbox Server.
> 
> original tumblr post: http://themockingcrows.tumblr.com/post/179708436597

     Hands were touching his face while John tried to understand what had actually just happened. It... had worked? The spell worked even though everything kind of went absolutely wrong? Those were definitely human feeling hands with substance, and they were warm and soft. On the other hand, those were also definitely fucking wings he was looking at, silky black feathers larger than they were but undeniably attached to their owner. The person looked perfectly formed otherwise, at least on the outside from what John could see through the lingering haze of panic that was only now starting to die out.

     "....Dave is that really you?" John asked.

     "John," he said again, continuing to pap and stroke different parts of his face, toying with his glasses and the eyelashes behind them.

     "Are you okay?" he followed up. "Does. ...Does anything hurt? Did anything get damaged?"

     "Damaged?" Dave repeated back, hands stilling on his cheeks before making a dive for his mouth, trying to feel the textures there as well and investigate what was just out of view. Gagging, John swatted him back before grasping his narrow wrists and pushing, trying to keep him at a decent range.

     "Augh, why are you doing that! I'm trying to ask if you're hurt or not!"

     "Or not!"

     Gritting his teeth, John kept his grip on Dave's (was this Dave? who the fuck else would it be if not the crow, come on John, focus!) wrists and took a few slow breaths. Calm mind. Clear mind. He could still smell the burnt ozone from the spell work all around them clear as a lightning strike, with the breeze doing nothing to entirely clear the area.

     "Okay. ...Okay. Do you only mimic then?"

     "John."

     “And say my name I guess. ...Can you stand up?" he asked, gesturing upward with his chin. "Y'know. Up?"

     Dave's brows lifted in surprise at the command and he was quick to move, lunging forward despite the hold on his wrists to try climbing. Too late, John realized his error.

     "Wait. WAIT, WAIT _NEVERMIND_!" he cried, trying to fend the bird... person.. bird person? bird boy? off best he could. It went about as well as he assumed it would, especially with the large wings giving a few flaps to propel the action. When John was flat on his back he released Dave's wrists and let the boy finish moving around till he was settled half on the ground and half on his shoulder, grinning big enough he was concerned his face would break in half.

     "Well. At least you still know all your commands just fine," John muttered, holding still when Dave leaned down to nuzzle against his face and temple a few times. It was different without the beak, but he supposed he was mostly glad that there were no nibbles to his glasses to follow up. The crooning sounds were sweet near his ear though, and the rustling of feathers not intimidating so far. 

     " _John_."

     "I hear you, Dave, I hear you," he promised. "Can you get off though? Uh. Down."

     Dave frowned and stopped his coos, but dutifully shuffled off, trying to hop on his knees to get a bit further off and give room for John to move. He sat back up and rubbed at his hair, righted his glasses, and slowly stood upright. There was a chance he could clean up the mess, but there'd be no way to hide Dave himself from his father. Thank fuck they lived all the way out here instead of in the middle of the city somewhere, how else could he explain literally anything about his appearance to a stranger who might see?

     "Okay. Let's try this again: up," John said. When Dave looked interested, he hurriedly followed it up by gesturing to himself and then holding his hands out in offer. "Like me. Like this. No shoulder, only this. Let me help if you need it."

     Dave was a bit unsteady on his feet, but with help he managed to rise up and lock his knees an- Oh, right, naked, yes, needed to fix that ASAP. It'd be easier to explain a new member of the household if he was at least decent instead of 'Hi Dad, meet my new naked friend who used to be my pet'.

     "Oh man, I just realized you'll probably be able to taste all those snacks you like so much a lot differently now," John said as he positioned himself to Dave's side, helping to stabilize and guide him inside. "Things would taste way different to birds than people. Actually, does that mean you only like them for being crunchy or something?"

     He didn't know how to cook so further experimentation would rely on his father, but the snack cabinet was going nowhere any time soon. Dave was easy to sit down on the couch, wings well formed but small enough that he was able to be comfortable. They didn't seem quite the right scale, John realized as he stepped back a few paces to take the sight in once more. It was like they'd shrunken down a bit, maybe in preparation for disappearing entirely with the rest of the feathers during the initial transformation, but they were still going to be nigh impossible to hide without looking like there was a massive lump under a sheet.

     "...What're we gonna do about those... Uhhh.. Hm." Did he want to hack his own much loved clothes open and try to wrangle them over the wings, or did he want to try doing the same to something of his Dads? Not really, no. Maybe just the bottom half for now. "You stay here. Just sit. I'll be right back," he promised. "Stay," John emphasized once more.

     Dave watched him with bright, intelligent eyes and held almost eerily still, breaking the stance only to shuffle his wings a bit and croak out a human sounding caw.

     "Good boy."

     He hoped that would hold him for at least a bit. Turning around, John raced upstairs and tore through his drawers, trying to decide what would work best for Dave. Shorts, no. Underwear?? No. Boxers nah. Ah, sweat pants would work, they could adjust the cord however they needed to and they were soft! Soft things would be good for someone not used to wearing clothes, right? Seemed a decent enough plan.

     A thud and a crinkle came from downstairs, then more ominous clunks. Moaning out a stressed sound, John hurried to get back downstairs to the sofa and its frustrating lack of Dave. Another thump led him to the kitchen just in time to see Dave on his knees on the countertop, arms stretched up towards the snack cabinet to try reaching over the edges he normally could force his way into as a bird far easier. He'd knocked things out of his way in the effort to scramble up, leaving a few things ominously teetering on the edge, some able to withstand a fall and others likely not.

     "Dave, no! Down! _Bad!_ " John said instinctively as he darted over, hoping to be in time to at least catch the glass item before it could fall.

     He was not. Dave jerked back from the cabinet to look at him, wings flaring out in surprise knocking the glass down about three inches from John's fingertips, shattering to pieces on the ground. Okay. So he'd did magic he wasn't supposed to, turned the crow into a bird person, and smashed a glass so far. Batting a thousand today, John.

     Worse, Dave was starting to make a gesture to get down to the ground as well in one go, one leg extending behind himself and weight shifting. More confusion, more panic to try making him stop, and John planted his hand one one of the shards while trying to brace himself and shove upwards on the leg. It was a clean slice, intersecting the cut he'd made purposefully earlier at an angle, tracing along his life line instead of the injured love line. Were he anyone else this would probably be some ominous sign or some greater telling, something to deeply consider.

     As this is John, his response was simply: "Fucking OW!" and to shake his hand vigorously. 

     "Okay, look, see? Bleeding. Hurt. Ow... Uh.. Stay," he urged. Dave looked confused, but stopped trying to shift his weight backwards. He instead watched while John hurried to sweep up the mess, only coming down when he was offered the uninjured hand. The sweatpants were shoved into his arms a moment later, free of blood but plenty wrinkled by now.  "See mine? Make them like this. Legs go here. This stays this way. Pull. You'll figure it out," John said. 

     He turned to the sink to wash his hand off properly, hissing at the soapy water. Damn, he'd need to wrap the whole thing at this rate, this sucked! The one he could handle, it was his own doing, but this was stupid!  John folded a paper towel a few times and clenched it in his fist before turning to look at Dave, wondering how fast he'd need to be to race for the first aid kit in the closet to avoid another mishap of bird boy being unattended. From Dave's struggles to get the pants on, focused and frustrated at the fact it was taking a bit more dexterity and balance than he was able to manage on a single leg in this new form, John judged he had at least a good minute. He took a few stealthy steps backwards before turning and racing up the stairs again to the linen closet, tugging out the first aid box and racing back downstairs.

     Dave was sat on the ground tugging the cloth up his legs now, satisfied with himself and nearly complete with dressing. Sighing in relief, John opened the box and took out the items he needed, working on disinfecting the wound properly and wrapping his hand up, thankful it was all on one side instead of on his off hand AND his dominant hand. 

     "John," croaked Dave, drawing attention to the fact he'd not only gotten the pants on but had them the right direction. He looked so pleased with himself that the ache in John's palm was easier to forget.

     "Hey! You did it in one go, look at that. Great job, Dave!"

     "John," he repeated, getting to his feet to show the pants off better, emphasizing the direction before coming over, wanting to nudge and nuzzle as he was used to while getting praise.

     "I-. ..You don't need to do that," John promised, laughing a bit. Somehow it was different when it was a human face rubbing on him instead of the cool edge of a beak. More intimate.

     "You deserve a reward though, you did a great job, and now you're not up on the counter. ...You want a snack now? Treats?"

     The nuzzling just got more intense as Dave croaked out a few soft caws of affirmation. Yes, you with the thumbs, get the treats.

     It was to John on a chair rummaging in the cabinet trying to decide between cookies or chips to introduce Dave to flavor wise, and a strange looking half naked boy with wings sprouting out of his back that James returned home to, a cloth bag of groceries dangling from one fist, a jug of milk in his other hand, mail in his teeth for the short journey from the car to the door.

     Father and son both froze, appraising each other cautiously, silently. Dave freely looked back and forth till it registered who the new person was for sure.

     " _Dad_ ," he said quickly. Right, this was Dad, he was back again. He looked way different from this angle, but this was definitely Dad.

     "Uh. ....Hiiiii Dad," John said, a rolled up bag of Doritos in his unwrapped hand slowly being pulled down to rest against his chest. "Aha. haa... haha. I didn't hear you pull up."

     "John," James said after dropping the mail from his teeth to the tabletop and setting the groceries beside it in one smooth motion.

     " **John** ," Dave mimicked helpfully, grin huge.

     "I can explain," hurried John. "Promise I can!"

     "Oh, I've no doubt you can explain son. The big question is if your explanation is worthwhile or would hold any water, given that you already know right from wrong."

     Haltingly, aware of just how awkward he sounded, John lowered down from the counter and explained how this situation had come to be. From Dave continuing to do poorly as he had been when James left, to looking like he was taking a nosedive to the end, to the magic taking its own path, to the new cut on his hand and the missing glass. He kept pausing to try collecting his thoughts, then rushing forward to explain more hurriedly, pouring out a serving of the chips into a bowl and setting them on the table in front of a chair, urging Dave towards them so he could put the bag away in the cabinet once more. 

     James listened quietly, coaxing a bit whenever John was quiet too long or anxious, and solemnly put the groceries away. He poured two glasses of milk and cut two squares of the dessert he'd made the day before, plating them out with forks for himself and John. After a second thought, he poured a third smaller glass of milk to see if Dave would drink it after his love affair with the chips that had him crooning and wiggling his wings. 

     "And uh. ...And then you got home. I guess," John finished. "...I'm sorry, Dad. I just didn't know what to do, I thought Dave was going to die and I just.."

     James sat down in a seat and gestured John towards the other, waiting till he started to poke the bit of fudgy delight with his fork. "I understand why you did it, son. I really do. ...But please, at least tell me you realize how bad this was to do. It could have killed you, could have taken out the whole house. Could've made Dave a monster. There are reasons that kind of magic is banned or strictly regulated: it's difficult and dangerous and can be majorly meddling in things we're not meant to have control over. It's too close to life and death."

     "I know," John mumbled, pushing the dessert around. He wasn't wild about sweets, not the way his dad was passionate about them, but he wasn't exactly going to say no to it when offered some. It was like a comforting ritual.

     "And you understand that these types of things could lead to serious problems in the future for the both of us, right?"

     "Yes, Dad, I know all that already I just..."

     "Just what."

     "...I just didn't want Dave to go away, like mom did," he mumbled, cutting off a too big piece of dessert and popping it in his mouth, wanting to admit something and then remove his ability to speak entirely. Coat his voice in chocolate and render himself mute to reason or responsibility for just a bit longer.

     James sighed and steepled his hands. He was speaking to John, but his focus was over on Dave, bright cheese powder on his pale face and hands as he continued to croon and crunch the snack. He'd need to get himself cleaned up after this, a new type of grooming to learn.. but seeing someone enjoy Doritos with that much gusto was charming in its own way.

     "I know you know, John. It's just fatherly duty and adult business to talk to you seriously about it. I can't imagine you'd want to be trying that again any time soon."

     "NO, it was really scary, I thought I'd caught him on fire!" John said loudly, realizing he needed to go for the milk. Okay, chocolate was good for not talking but it wasn't good at letting him be a fickle bitch and change when he did and did not want to be capable of communication at the drop of a hat. Rude.

     "I'm fairly sure he's a crow, not a phoenix, so that would've been an issue," James said, grinning a bit when John shot him a sour look. "You already know what I mean. I'm trying to say that I think you managed to punish yourself enough with the close call. You're going to be quite busy now."

     "Why?"

     Dave's bowl thumped as he leaned his face forward to eat the last crumbs out of it, wings giving a few more light testing flaps as he savored the snack. James cut a piece of his own treat, gestured to Dave with it, then chewed. He spoke casually, food tucked to one cheek.

     "You'll be taking care of most of that yourself. You taught him commands when you were growing up with him, you can teach him more things now."

     “But-"

     "Don't make birds into people if you're not prepared for a person with the reasoning skills and knowledge of a bird, John. You're lucky crows are bright to begin with, or you'd probably be having an even harder time. ...Not to say you'll be entirely alone," he promised. "I'll help as needed. But this is your mess and you're cleaning it up properly, and making sure what you've made is happy. He'll be living a lot longer than a crow now, you need to be sure it'll be a good existence. You can't just un-make him.”

     Babysitting. 

     Lots and lots of babysitting. 

     Lots and lots of stressful babysitting and teaching things. John slowly looked over towards Dave, who by then was licking his fingers and trying to otherwise figure out how best to groom himself now by addition of his teeth against the patches of thicker cheese powder. He grimaced, already knowing some of the first lessons he'd need to figure out, and knowing more words and sentences would be important now. He seemed to understand.. but things were so different now, he'd need to push past the bird level and get deeper.

     "Maybe I'll show him some video games," John mused. "Or those teaching game things you used to have me play when you first started homeschooling me."

     "Do those even work in the computer anymore? They're quite old, John."

     "I'll find a way to make'm work, Dad. If they worked on me I'm pretty sure they'd work on Dave. Or at least keep him occupied while I'm trying to get other things done. I wasn't gone even five minutes before he got up on the counter and knocked things down," he said, gesturing to his wrapped hand. "He works fast!"

     "You were the same way when you were younger, but I'm thankful the most we have to deal with for Dave will be bird habits and confusion. You'd sneeze or throw tantrums and bring heavy breezes and storms."

     "Dad I haven't done that in a long time," John winced, embarrassed as if his father had pulled out a picture of him in diapers to emphasize it. "But. You're right, he's just a bird. ....Is he still my familiar?”

     "I don't know son. Is he still your familiar?"

     "...What would make him stop being my familiar," John asked, a bit confused now.

     "If he didn't want to be, he would stop being your familiar. And you would have to respect that and find another one, and then continue to give your friend here a good life."

     "How would I know if he wanted to be it or not now? He doesn't really talk!"

     "Teach him and wait till he can tell you himself," James shrugged. "What other options Are there?"

     John finished his snack in silence, pondering everything his father had said. Right, then. Dave was his responsibility, and he'd do good by his familiar.

     ... His friend. He'd do good by his friend.

     "First thing's first then: you were a messy drinker even when you were a bird, don't even try to splash this around," he said, and lifted his own milk glass. Dave looked up at him with an orange streaked face, plaintive eyes and an empty bowl. Obviously he was starving, nobody had ever fed him in his entire life, and snacks were a new and exotic treat that he was being denied. How cruel.

     "John."

     "Milk," he said pointedly, gesturing to his glass before scooting Dave's closer to his hands to get his attention. "I'd rather you figure out drinking before we get the other junk off you, in case this goes about as well as I expect it will. Dave, do like me."

     When John drained his glass, Dave cocked his head and studied, waiting till he was prompted once more. He did better than John expected he would, actually. There were rivulets of milk coming from either side of his lips and spilling down his bare chest, but he seemed to get the idea in general. Big of practice and he'd be fine. 

     "...Maybe a straw would help as well," James offered, ever helpful. "Go get that dust off him and see about helping him make somewhere comfortable in your room for himself. We can get your sleeping bag out and the extra blankets, keep him by the bed with you while he adjusts."

     John spent the rest of the day teaching Dave words and actions more specifically, same as he'd taught him commands while he was a bird, and had spent the evening with his father trying to see if they could get him to understand a fork quickly or not for dinner. It was hit and miss, dexterity still a problem, but the fact he was so eager to try was a good sign for the future. The last important step had been a crash course in how the toilet worked, with John praying to whatever would listen that the crash course and backup condition of 'ask me if you need anything' would be enough to deter any incidents.   


     Being an excellent host John had lain the sleeping bag out and put the softest blankets from the linen closet on top for extra coziness, to let him use the bag as a makeshift mattress. He'd even taken time to arrange some plushies here and there to give it that homey feeling, as if Dave were an important guest instead of someone who'd already been living in his room for almost his entire lifespan. It was entirely different now! Dave couldn't sleep in the crook of his neck or on his head anymore, he didn't sleep sitting up, he needed to have comfy options at his disposal till they could work out a longer term plan.   


     By the bed was a hopeful idea, but one that was ultimately rejected by Dave despite a few efforts at baiting him down lower. Dave knew the routine for bedtime well by now, though his inclusion was new. He'd partaken in brushing his teeth and washing his face, though he'd not liked the first and John had complained about his trying to stick his head under the faucet and flaring his wings out to make do with the small water source. He'd waited while John changed into his pajamas for the night Yet when time came for John to get into bed and for him to perch on him to sleep, he instead pointed down at the ground.   


     The ground! _The nerve_!

     Nope. John's bed was Dave's bed, same as it had always been and always would be. Dave ignored the pointing and the talking and clambered right up beside John, making for his pillow with a quick crawl. John stopped him by pressing at his shoulders, frowning.   


     "Dave, no. No. Down. This isn't your bed, this is mine. Your bed is down there now, I'll be right here okay? Don't worry, it'll be plenty comfortable!" John promised, giving another press when Dave tried to push forward despite everything he was saying.   


     "John."   


     Another hard press and John was losing ground, Dave dead set on doing as he pleased. Being bigger had its benefits: he could push back now! No more being nudged to the side super easily, he could nudge right back and throw some newly gained weight around!    


     "Dave. _Dave, no_. I said _**no**_! This is _my_ bed! Yours is down _there_!" he cried, grunting when he wound up pushed down solidly. John groaned in frustration as Dave finished climbing, laying down to mostly pin John's chest and shoulder, wings tucking into place.   


     There. Better.   


     "Okay, fine! Ugh, I'll take the floor tonight if you want the bed so bad!"

     Peeling himself out from underneath Dave's knees and torso, John grumbled and slipped over the edge of his bed with a soft thump, rustling the blankets around to get himself in place and adjusted comfortably. Usurped from his own goddamn bed on the first night, how embarrassing: he couldn't even beat someone who hadn't had arms and legs before today!   


     "Good night, Dave," he muttered, taking his glasses off and reaching up to set them on the bedside table. Red eyes peered over the edge of the mattress down at him in the dark, intense, head cocked slightly to the side same as before. It was kind of creepy, actually. Why did his eyes have to be RED of all things, it made the ghostly appearance even worse.   


     ...Oh, shit, he really DID look like a ghost, huh. John knew what kinds of dreams he'd be having, the theme song was already playing in the back of his head as he lowered it to the pillow and closed his eyes to stop paying attention to the staring.    


     Dave's soft noises were different now, but still soothing to hear in the dark. He heard feathers shuffling, heard the mattress shifting. Felt about seventy pounds of bird fall on him from the mattress edge, knocking the wind out of him in one swoop, Dave's knees thumping louder than his own had as he hit the padded floor.   


     "John!"

     "AUGH!"   


     Okay. That had hurt, but he'd survive. Mostly it had been startling, and he could only be thankful that it'd taken place when he was still mostly awake. Less being scared to death and crushed, more surviving to bitch and complain about the entire process.   


     "Dave, _come on_! You have the entire bed for yourself, why did yo-!"   


     Dave's face was close enough to his in the dark that even without his glasses he could make out most of the details. He was frowning, brows drawn together, face worried. ...Was he upset? Was he scared or something? Was he-   


     "Startled about being yelled at," John muttered, rubbing his own face for a moment. Stupid. He wouldn't know better, he was still mostly a bird in there right now. A slow breath in deep as he could get it with Dave perched awkwardly over him, and a slow breath out while he thought. "...It's not going to matter how much I move around, is it. It's not the bed. Right?"   


     " _John_ ," Dave said softly, sadly. He shuffled his wings again, trying to find a good position for them, and didn't seem to be moving any time soon.

     John stared, then let out a sigh of defeat.   


     "Okay. Look. Dave, let me up. We'll both stay on the bed instead, okay? You don't have to get down or go away, just let me stand up so I can go to bed."   


     He was almost worried Dave wouldn't understand until the boy scooted off and sat on his knees to the side, watching him like a proverbial hawk as he rubbed his newly freed ribcage and carefully crawled back to the comfort of his mattress. John snagged one of the pillows from the floor, positioned it beside his own, and then pat the bare spot beside himself as he scooted back to make more room till Dave hopped up as well.

     That was how James found them when he came to check an hour or two later, on his own way to bed. The pair were side by side, Dave with his head below John's chin and one arm slung over his waist, John with his blanket askew and an arm slung over Dave's shoulder so his fingertips grazed the feathers of his wing. For all the noise they'd made earlier, they were certainly deeply asleep now. He smiled and gently closed the door behind himself.


End file.
